Alastair Reynolds
Alastair Reynolds was born in 1966 in Barry, South Wales.
He spent his early years in Cornwall, moved back to Wales and on to university in
Newcastle, doing Physics and Astronomy. Then it was on to a PhD in St Andrews, Scotland.
In 1991, he moved to Holland, where he met his partner Josette, and worked as ESA Research Fellow
before his post-doctoral work at Utrecht University.
At present he works at ESA as a contractor.

Just about any review of Alastair Reynolds's work is bound at some point to mention "space opera" (see, I
just did, and it's only the first sentence) -- I particularly like Paul McAuley's blurb on the back cover
of Reynolds's first novel, Revelation Space, describing it as "gonzo cybergoth space opera." The
typical space opera conventions are here -- interstellar travel among human colonized worlds, a menace
to the universe, a hero on a quest, sardonic dialogue, one dimensional characters -- but Reynolds dresses
them up with hard SF (he's an astronomer by trade) speculations about the nature of the universe without
violating known astrophysical laws (e.g., no Faster Than Light travel), combined with the aforementioned
"cybergoth" tropes of seemingly sentient artificial constructs and biomechanical prosthetic enhancements
that blur the distinction between human and machine.

All of which serves to take the much, and perhaps deservedly, denigrated term of "space opera" to another
level. Reynolds is working in similar territory as Stephen Baxter's Manifold trilogy, specifically in
attempting to address the famous observation by physicist Enrico Fermi about the possibility of other
life forms in the universe, since referred to as the Fermi Paradox: "If they existed, they would be
here." Given the immense age of the universe, and with that the likelihood of advanced civilizations
possibly even capable of interstellar travel, why is there so little evidence of intelligent life (at
least as understandable by human intelligence) elsewhere in the cosmos?

While "sprawling" is equally descriptive of both authors' framework to approach that question, Reynolds
sticks more or less to the conventions of the form (which is in no way intended as criticism). Three
seemingly divergent narratives concerning the driven archaeologist Dan Sylveste, the hired assassin
Khouri, and interstellar trader and weapons expert Ilia Volyova, come together through the competing
machinations of mysteriously manipulative forces to discover what happened to the lost race of Amarantin
and whether humanity will share their fate.

In getting to a denouement that, except for our heroes persevering over all sorts of calamities, is hardly
typical of space opera, having more in common with William Gibson than Edward E. Smith, Ph.D., Reynolds
does some vivid "world-building," although some of it gets lost by the wayside as the narrative propels
forward. Khouri, for example, is contracted by the very people she is to kill in some sort of riff
on reality-based television. Here Reynolds kind of loses his otherwise firm grip on things -- given the
highly advanced human civilization he's depicting, the notion of "television," a word he actually uses,
seems a bit archaic. Nor is it quite clear what the point is. While it provides a device to introduce
the character and then whisk her off on her ultimate adventure, it isn't really essential or necessary
and could easily be forgotten by the time you get to the last page. (It should be
noted that Chasm City, where this particular scene takes place, is the title and subject of
Reynolds latest novel, not a sequel but another story set in the same imagined reality, so the author
can be forgiven for perhaps "setting-the-stage" here with incidental details that serve a larger
narrative world-view.)

And, I guess because he is a scientist, you also have to forgive Reynolds for the occasional lapse of
control when he writes such sentences as:

"After several million years of profligate energy-expenditure the star has exploded as a supernova,
and in its heart, tremendous gravitational pressure had smashed a lump of matter with its own
Schwarzchild radius, until a black hole had been formed."

Even if they know what a Schwarzchild radius may be, the ending may not strike some fans of
the traditional space opera as satisfying. We're not really clear on who the "good guys"
are -- indeed, the main characters are not particularly likeable or motivationally consistent -- and
what they win in the end is intangibly defined. But when you're pondering the immense paradoxes of
the universe and the underlying meaning of existence, even in the context of a compelling space opera,
you have to face the fact that every revelation only leaves more space for questions.

David Soyka is a former journalist and college teacher who writes the occasional short story and
freelance article. He makes a living writing corporate marketing communications, which is a kind of
fiction without the art.